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March 16, 2010
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Happy birthday dad.
As you sit on your plush chair
Perhaps mumbling, perhaps buzzing
With ideas and half-formed queries
Slightly marred by the same force
Which dug its tiny fingers into the creases
Around your eyes.
Strange how I can see you there right now,
Wondering how you ever became such a wise
Old man.
But you wouldn’t call yourself wise.
It’s okay, no need to be humble.
You’re 84.

When I was younger we used to play together.
We’d make movies with my dolls, and proudly showcase our names
Scrawled upon cardboard as
Impromptu credits.
You were my daddy-who happened to have hair
Just a little bit whiter than most.
When people assumed you were my grandfather
I simply didn’t want you to feel embarrassed.
I didn’t recognize how grandfathers
Are closer to death
Than dads.

You never truly escaped from that time
Of simple days
So raw.
Of words that make me giggle-
Like “chifforobe”
-But dad, we will smile so strong
That I too will greet those little fairies,
Pinching pulled lines around my mouth,
Until one day my enthusiasm
Will match your journey.

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